Abstinence
by Morrowyn
Summary: Gwynneth Donavan has made a life changing discovery that she wishes would just disappear. What will she do when she's the one who vanishes? Canon, OC centric. Starts just before the Fall of Boromir.
1. Chapter 1

"Three's a crowd, babe. Either it's the two of us or I'm out of here."

"But-," Gwynneth flinched as the dial tone sounded loudly in her ear. Sighing in resignation, she replaced her phone in her purse as she ducked out of the sweltering heat of the Arizona afternoon-ironic, as that very morning it had been cold enough to kill the flowers she kept growing on her apartment's balcony-and into the air conditioned comforts of a corner cafe. Damned desert weather.

"Gwyn, over here!" Her friend Tanya waved at her from a table fairly close to the entrance, her bleached white smile wide and friendly. She glanced around them as she sat down, "So, how'd it go?"

"Positive." Gwynneth said glumly, catching her head in my hands as it fell. "Oh, Tanya, what am I going to do?"

Tanya reached across the table and ruffled her friend's fiery red hair. "Don't worry Gwyn, I'm sure you'll think of something. How'd Don react?" She sighed as the young woman across from her shook her head dejectedly. "Well, at least you know how he feels about children now." She said in a poor attempt at comfort. Her expression changed suddenly as an idea crossed her mind. "Hey, how're you gonna dance if you're...you know?"

Gwynneth dropped her head, her face colliding with a painfully loud smack with the wooden tabletop. "I don't even want to think about that right now." She turned her head on its side, her blue eyes regarding her best friend seriously. "I don't have insurance, Tanya; do you know how much this is gonna cost me?" Tears filmed in her eyes. "I'll be in debt until the next millenium."

"Or," Tanya began, sipping at her fruity coffee substitute. "You could just have an abortion."

Gwynneth straightened in her seat, her eyes wide as she stared open mouthed at her friend. The idea of ending her child's life before it even began hadn't even crossed her mind until now, and she hated herself for even considering it. Still, she really did not have the time or means to care for a child on her own, not to mention the effect the cost of having it would have on her credit. She couldn't fathom giving it up to the foster system, either; so many children come out of foster homes abused and wretched, to abandon a child who'd done no wrong to that kind of life was a heart wrenching alternative. At least if she never gave birth, Gwynneth would be the only one to suffer.

* * *

Alone in her apartment, Gwynneth lay prone across her bed, thoughts flying through her mind. Very little had happened since her lunch with Tanya, and she'd spent the day considering all of her options. Don had ignored all of her calls, sending her into a descending spiral of despair as she realized just how alone she really was in this. She'd considered calling her mother- as a single mother herself she'd have a more experienced outlook on the situation-, but by the time she'd worked up the courage it was past the time the older woman had taken her medicine and become dead to the world until morning. Gwynneth absently placed a hand on her abdomen, the muscles beneath her fingers hard and defined from almost two decades of intense ballet; the first ten of which spent in training, the next five in professional tours, and the last three as a teacher in a local studio. The thought that all that work might be for naught as a child stretched and tore at her body made a small piece of her pride cry out in denial, but she held it back. Now was not the time to think of herself.

Gwyneth sighed as she rolled over onto her stomach, cradling her head in her arms. Closing her eyes, she silently wished she were free of the world and its impossible choices.


	2. Chapter 2

A cool breeze brushed Gwynneth's shoulder, and she rubbed a hand over the gooseflesh, vaguely wondering if perhaps she'd kicked off the covers again. Something skittered across her arm and she jerked upright into a sitting position, immediately awake. She stiffened, the soft dirt that she'd been laying on clinging to her arms as she frantically studied her surroundings, the canopy of the trees blocking out most of the sky. Shivering, she tucked her bare feet beneath her legs, the surrealness of the situation preventing it from causing the panic she was certain she should be feeling.

A snuffling sound came from the bushes behind her, and she turned, her hair providing momentary warmth to her shoulders as her heart leapt into her throat, her fingers digging into the flesh of her arms as something rustled the underbrush.

"H-hello?" She called, voice cracking. Clearing her throat, she stood and called out again. "Hello? Is anyone there?"

The rustling continued as whatever was hiding out there came closer, making no attempt at stealth. Gwynneth stepped back, her calloused feet resistant to the sharp bits of litter spread across the forest floor.

"Hello? P-please, I don't know where I am." She blinked rapidly to hold back the tears that threatened to fall. "Please?"

"Hello there, delicious."

Gwynneth jumped, an unnaturally high yelp escaping her as she whirled to face the owner of the rasping voice. Behind her stood a terribly disfigured man with a slight hunchback, his ghastly pale face looking up at her. He smiled, his nasty, broken teeth repulsing her into taking another step back; a step into something cold and hard that hadn't been there before. The little man in front of her looked at the space above her head in fear, and Gwynneth felt fear clench low in her gut. Instead of turning and presenting the small man with an opportunity to attack her from behind, she tilted her head back, her eyes meeting the harsh visage of someone _much_ taller than her, his features partially hidden by white paint of some kind..

"She's mine," the smaller man growled at his larger counterpart. "I found her first."

The man's yellow eyes never left Gwynneth's as he only growled in response.

"You can't have her!" The little man reached for her arm with fingers tipped with claws and she wrenched herself out from between the two, her hands held up before her defensively.

"Please, I just want to know where I am." Now that she was outside their reach, Gwynneth could see that the two men weren't _men_ at all. Certainly, they were humanoid, but no human had teeth like those or grew to such proportions, Both men regarded her intensely, their matching yellow eyes glowing slightly in the darkness. After a moment, the hulking beast she'd run into stepped forward.

"She is mine," he said, slow and articulate.

She backed away as he approached her. "W-what?"

He reached one gauntleted hand out to her.


	3. Chapter 3

Gwynneth held a knuckle to her nose, the smell of raw, rotting meat making her nauseous. The military company of...whatevers had remained constantly on the move for days now, only stopping to rest every twelve hours or so. The...whatever who had claimed her was apparently the leader-which was good; whenever one of his men would get a little too close for comfort he'd growl and they'd run for their lives. Under different circumstances, it might have been funny, but as it was her situation looked very bleak. She couldn't stomach the food, was in dire need of some rest, and would probably be eaten if her protector left her alone for too long. She placed a hand over her diaphragm. With all the stress she was under, it wouldn't surprise her if her body reabsorbed her child to keep itself alive.

The one thing all of her captors had in common in her regard was their fascination with her tattoo. The tribal dragon design ran all the way up her arm, its tail coiling around her wrist and its firebreathing head on the back of her shoulder. The whatevers often stared at it, and at her hair; they just looked at her funny in general. The only one who touched her was the white faced one, and while she did not enjoy being hauled through a cross country marathon by the arm, it beat being groped by the leering little thing who'd found her. The runs were tiring, and she often stumbled, her bare feet dirty and sore. Whenever she lagged, her protector would lift her quite easily and prop her up against his shoulder. Part of her felt guilty about that, but it was a small, hardly paid attention to part. Bits of ill fitted armor dug into her stomach and she grit her teeth against the pain. Suddenly, her ride stopped and tossed her on the ground beneath a tree.

"Don't move." He commanded, and he sprinted off with the rest of his men, none of them even glancing in her direction as they passed. Gwynneth shuddered; their swords were drawn.

After the last stragglers had passed, she took a moment to calm herself. She considered leaving, but the likelihood of finding someone friendly in the area before she died of starvation or was eaten by some savage beast of this strange, backwards world was probably lower than that of being captured again by the same group that'd done it the first time. Then again, if who or whatever they were attacking survived, she might be able to tag along. Plus, they were fairly close to a river, and most settlements during sword wielding times had been along rivers, right?

She stood, bracing herself against the tree as she looked about. Cautiously, she stepped out from the cover of the tree, and followed the wide, obvious trail her captors had left in their wake.


	4. Chapter 4

Ducking behind trees, Gwynneth did her best to step lightly on the forest floor, for the first time grateful her feet were bare. She moved sporadically, taking no chance that she might be seen by anyone she didn't want to see her. The adrenaline pumping through her kept her on her toes, her breath coming quickly and fogging in the cool air of the forest. Focusing her attention ahead of her, she followed the trail, the sounds of combat growing louder and louder as she progressed. Suddenly, a loud noise startled her and she jumped, breaking something under her foot. It came again, and she heard the sounds of metal striking metal. Swallowing stiffly, she headed toward what was no doubt a full blown battle.

To her surprise, once she crested a hill she could see several of the whatevers fighting one man. One glorious, beautiful, _human_ man with dark hair and a well kept beard. He pulled what looked like an animal horn to his lips and blew, recreating the same sound that had startled her earlier. Behind him stood two childlike figures huddling together as their companion fought on. Gwynneth's hand rose to her throat as she watched him kill one creature after the other, none of them having the intelligence to attack as a group. His blade expertly found its way into weaknesses in their hodgepodge armor, blood coating the deadly weapon as its wielder panted with exertion. A familiar whitened face appeared in her peripheral vision, and she hid herself from his line of sight behind a tree that would still allow her to watch the fight. She'd never seen so much blood before, and the smell made her nauseous, but she could not take her eyes from the human warrior below.

Unaware of her presence, the man continued to fight, protecting his younger companions with his life. An ache ran through her, something, perhaps an instinct long buried or ignored, demanding with great urgency that she find a man like him. A man who would fight to defend _her _child the way this one defended his. She would have tossed the notion aside as a foolish remnant from ancestors past, but her present location suddenly made it a real possibility.

Abruptly, Gwynneth was cast from her daydream as an arrow thudded its way into her dream man's chest, his face contorted with agony and shock. His hand reached to touch the place where the projectile had embedded itself, and Gwynneth found herself mirroring him. Yelling, the warrior pit himself against his enemies with added fervor, ignoring the arrow in his chest as he fought with a new desperation. Another arrow hit his torso, lower than the first, and he recoiled, stumbling. Still he raised his sword, yelling at the top of his lungs. A third arrow hit him in the abdomen, and Gwynneth could see the blood fly from his mouth. He fell to his knees, his eyes looking up at something and she shifted her position to one where she could see. She gasped. The white faced creature held a drawn bow, the fletching of the arrow brushing his ghastly face. Her heart leapt into her throat; the beast was going to kill him!


	5. Chapter 5

Last time on Abstinence: _The white faced creature held a drawn bow, the fletching of the arrow brushing his ghastly face. Her heart leapt into her throat; the beast was going to kill him!_

Just when Gwynneth was certain the monster would release the arrow, another man leapt onto him from behind, ruining the shot. The two immediately engaged in a one on one battle, ignoring the fallen man as they fought to the death. Gwynneth looked from the fight to the man and, swallowing her fear, dashed down through the gully, catching the injured warrior before he fell forward onto the arrows in his chest. He gasped at her touch and she eased him onto his back. His panicked gaze met hers and he struggled to sit up.

"The little ones," he ground out between gritted teeth. "They've taken the little ones."

She pushed him down gently, shushing him. "Don't speak, you'll make it worse." She wiped the sweat from his brow. He hissed in pain as her hand accidentally grazed one of the arrows. "Oh my God, I'm sorry!" She pulled her hands away, afraid to touch him.

"What...is your name?" He gasped, and she had to resist the urge to shush him again.

"Gw-Gwynneth. Gwynneth Donavan."

His hand reached forward and grasped hers where she clutched it to her chest, the blood on his glove sticking to her skin. "My Lady, I- I ask of you a boon."

"Anything," she replied, a little too eager to be of service to this incredible man.

"Take this," Gwynneth watched as he pulled the horn that had led her to him closer to his side. "To Minas Tirith, in Gondor. Tell- tell the Steward," He looked at her imploringly, "That Boromir died with honor."

Tears pricked her eyes for the stranger before her. "I will."

Tension left his body only to return within the moment. "The little ones! I must find the little ones!"

Gwynneth looked to where she'd last seen the children and saw that they were, indeed, missing. Turning back to Boromir, her jaw set with determination. "I will find them. I can't get them away, but I'll keep them safe." She squeezed his hand reassuringly. "I promise."

Looking behind her to where Boromir's companion still fought the white faced creature, she stood cautiously, leaving her new hero to the death he'd resigned himself to and once again followed the trail of destruction the beasts had left in their wake.


	6. Chapter 6

Gwynneth had caught up with the band of whatevers quickly, as they'd only had a few moments' head start. She could see no sign of the little ones from her place amongst the slower members of the company, but she'd kept her hopes up. Eventually, she began to lag even further behind, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps as she noted the dawn of the third day. Three days of solid running with no rest, minimal food, stagnant water, and no giant to carry her when she fell, and they'd left the forest behind, traversing wide open spaces and running along cliff sides, the rocky terrain tearing at her feet. She was glad to see that she wasn't the only one getting tired; many of the creatures grumbled under their breath and panted just as heavily as she. Hopefully they'd stop soon, and she could find the children.

* * *

Her wish was granted that very night, and she almost collapsed right then and there, the fire in her legs begging her to fall. But she stood, dragging her feet through the camp, and cast her gaze in every direction in the hopes of finding the little ones who had been so important to Boromir. She clutched his horn against her chest, fingers following the hairline fracture that almost split it in half._Soon_, she promised it. _I will take you home soon._

Odd creaking noises drifted to her ears from the edge of the forest the creatures had camped beside, the eerie moaning almost like voices in the night, the low pitches making Gwynneth shiver.

"I'm starvin'," said a dark skinned creature. "We ain't had nothin' but maggoty bread for three stinkin' days!" He regarded the offending morsel with disdain before tossing it aside.

"Yeah!" agreed one of his paler comrades. "Why can't we have some meat?"

Gwynneth automatically tried to make herself seem smaller than she was, crouching down where they'd hopefully forget she was there.

"What about them?" the second speaker continued, and Gwynneth followed his gaze to where the children lay, their hands bound by thick ropes. "They're fresh."

Her heartbeat doubled as a third party entered the conversation. "They are not for eating." He said slowly, as if speaking to a child. Then he reached down and pulled the boys up by their clothing, dragging them out of the reach of his hungry compatriots. Gwynneth moved as the rest of the company's attention was elsewhere, trying to get closer to the children without being seen herself.

"What about their legs?" asked an owlish creature with wide eyes. "They don't need those."

The taller of the two looked down at his feet while his partner simply looked at the speaker as if he were insane.

"Oh," the beast continued, licking his lips. "They look tasty!" He lunged for them, only to be thrust back by the one who'd defended them.

"Get back, scum!" he shouted, and suddenly everyone was on edge.

"Oh, come on!" said the one who'd first suggested eating the boys as he raised his sword above their heads. "Just a mouthful."

Their defender raised his own blade in response and chopped off the offender's head. "Looks like meat is back on the menu, boys!" he announced, and the majority of the company converged on the corpse of their newly fallen comrade. Gwynneth quickly made her way around them, their cannibalism making her wretch. The two boys were lying on the ground where they'd no doubt been thrown during the sudden feeding frenzy.

She knelt down beside them, "Psst."

The two turned from what had obviously been a private conversation, their bound hands poised for combat. Gwynneth raised her own placatingly, and one of them noticed the horn where it hung against her chest.

"Hey, Merry, that's Boromir's horn!"

"Hush, Pippin," Merry glared at her menacingly. "Where'd you get that?"

Gwynneth pulled the horn from around her neck, presenting it to them without letting it go. "Boromir gave it to me."

Merry's glare didn't lessen. "Why?"

Gwynneth smiled sadly at the memory. "He said he wanted me to take it to some place called Gondor."

"Then why are you here?" Pippin asked innocently.

Her smile widened. "I promised to keep you safe."

Merry's expression finally softened and Pippin smiled outright. "Well," he said. "That was nice of you."

Gwynneth blushed and looked away as she replaced Boromir's horn around her neck, suddenly flustered now that she'd said it out loud.

"Oi, what are you doing?" The three of them turned at the sudden interruption, the creature who had spoken approaching them with his knife in hand. "Who said you could talk to the prisoners?"

Gwynneth drew herself up to her full height, which was barely taller than the creature himself. "_I_ did." She replied with false confidence.

The beast-man sneered at her. "Just because Lurtz picked you up don't mean you're higher than the rest of us."

He came closer, and she quickly positioned herself between him and the boys. "_Someone_ has to keep you from eating them."

He growled and raised his knife, only to jerk back roughly and fall to the ground, a full length spear in his back.

Gwynneth raised a hand to her mouth, barely hesitating before turning to address Merry and Pippin. "Go! Get out of here while they're distracted!" She handed Merry the fallen creature's knife.

Pippin grabbed at her pants. "What about you?"

The honest concern in his voice near broke her heart. "I'll keep them off your trail, now go!"

She turned to do just that, but she was stopped again, this time by Merry.

"What's your name?"

"Gwyn," and with that she jumped into the chaos brought with men on horseback.


	7. Chapter 7

Last time on Abstinence: _She turned to leave, but she was stopped again, this time by Merry._

_"What's your name?"_

_"Gwyn," and with that she jumped into the chaos brought with men on horseback._

All around her, Gwynneth saw carnage. She tried to keep Merry and Pippin within her line of sight, but the milling horsemen and creatures made it difficult to lock on to any one thing at a time. She was jostled by a creature and she stumbled into a horse, her shoulder bumping it's rider's leg before it galloped off in pursuit of one monster or another. Unconsciously, she ducked out of the way of a sword, the blade thunking as it collided with its intended target. She froze for a moment afterwards, thanking whatever god, demon, or spirit has inspired her to start dancing all those years ago.

"Hail, maiden!" A man on a black horse trotted over, one hand reaching down and lifting her into the saddle by her waist. "Pardon my rudeness, milady," he continued before she could protest. "But I did not wish for you to be caught in the fray." He settled her more comfortably across his saddle, one gauntleted arm drawing her shoulder against his armored chest as he spurred his horse forward away from the battle.

And away from Pippin and Merry.

* * *

Gwyn tried her best not to nod off in the saddle as her new protector -Eomer, his name was- rode at the head of yet another military company. Personally, she'd rather he took his chivalry and shoved it up his ass. The entire night he'd not only _ignored_ her pleas to return and look for the boys she'd promised to protect, but he'd actually _dared_ to pull the whole "women shouldn't worry themselves" line. She'd considered jumping off the horse, but in all honesty the idea scared the dickens out of her, not to mention she'd probably be trampled by all of the other horses that were following Eomer's. Having resigned herself to dealing with her new companion's chauvinism, she remained silent well into the morning, occasionally drifting off into sleep.

"Riders of Rohan!"

She jerked awake as the Eomer changed their direction, his arm bouncing against her as he leaned into the turn.

"What news from the Mark?" called a voice, probably the same one that had inspired the sudden turn in the first place.

The horsemen converged on the speaker quickly, Eomer remaining outside the circle as his men pooled in. After most of them had settled, he shoved his way through, which made no sense- he should have just been part of the first ring if he wanted to be in the front so badly.

"What business," he began, Gwynneth eyeing lowered spears as he broke through the inner circle.. "Do an elf, a man, and a dwarf have in the Riddermark? Speak quickly!" he ordered, his men lowering their weapons.

Gwynneth looked down on the men he'd cornered-she was fairly certain that at least two of them were men, the third, not so much- and took in their ragged appearances. The one who stood at the forefront had dark, shoulder length wavy hair and skin as fair as every other non-monster she'd met so far, the stubble on his jaw giving lending a rougher appearance than Eomer's neat mustache. His companions stood side by side, as opposite as light and day; while one was tall, pale complected and resembled one of those weird unisex mannequins, the other was incredibly short, red-faced and obviously male if the bushy red beard were any indication.

"Give me your name, Horse Master, and I shall give you mine." The short one spoke first, to his dark haired companion's obvious chagrin.

Eomer dismounted, leaving Gwyn in charge of a giant, nothing-but-muscle beast. Domesticated or not, she knew full well what kind of damage a horse of any size could do. Luckily, it was obviously trained to stay still if its proper rider wasn't in the saddle.

The dark haired man placed a hand on his short friend's shoulder as Eomer approached them.

"I would cut off your head, _Dwarf_," he spat the word as if it left a nasty taste in his mouth. "If it but stood a bit higher from the ground."

The blond one nocked an arrow to his bow, drawing it taught and aiming at Eomer's face. "You would die before your stroke fell." He declared.

Every rider apparently heard this, and pointed their spears at their captives yet again. Gwynneth's horse chomped at its bit, shifting beneath her, and she prayed that nothing would make it any more nervous.

The dark haired man lowered his companion's bow, looking at him and the surrounding men with disapproval before addressing Eomer directly.

"I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn," he said, then turned to introduce the others. "This is Gimli, son of Gloin, and Legolas of the Woodland Realm. We are friends of Rohan," he added. "And of Theoden, your king."

Eomer was still for a moment. "Theoden no longer recognizes friend from foe." He removed his conical helmet, his long blond hair falling down his back. "Not even his own kin." The riders withdrew their spears again as their leader continued speaking. "Saruman has poisoned the mind of the king and claimed lordship over this land." The three shared a glance. "My company are those loyal to Rohan, and for that we are banished." He stepped closer to Aragorn, his voice lowered so that Gwyn could barely hear him speak. "The white wizard is cunning; he walks here and there, they say, as an old man, hooded and cloaked." He turned to Legolas. "And everywhere his spies slip past our nets."

"We are no spies," Aragorn interjected. "We track a band of Uruk-Hai across the plains. They have taken two of our friends captive."

Gwyn suddenly gave him her full attention; if the creature's she'd been travelling with were the Uruk-Hai he spoke of, Aragorn's friends just may well be Merry and Pippin.

"The Uruks were destroyed. We slaughtered them during the night." Eomer gestured at Gwyn. "We rescued this maiden from their clutches."

Gwynneth rolled her eyes and the one called Gimli stepped forward. "But there were hobbits. Did you see two hobbits with them?"

"They would be small," Aragorn added. "Only children to your eyes."

Eomer looked down and away. "We left none alive."

"Except me," Gwyn interjected, and all eyes were on her."I know the ones you speak of," she said, lapsing into the more formal mode of speech used by everyone else in this medieval world. "Merry and Pippin, right?"

Gimli approached her, his face hopeful. "Did you know them, lass?"

"I spoke with them, yes. The last I saw of them they were fleeing the carnage brought by these Riders of Rohan. Before that, they were quite safe."

Eomer turned to her with a glare on his face. "You dare accuse us of endangering innocent lives needlessly? When we came upon the camp _you_ were being threatened by a beast twice your size." Eomer turned back to Aragorn, pointing to something in the distance. "We piled the carcasses and burned them."

The looks of hope fell from all of their faces.

"Dead?" Gimli appeared the most crushed, and his pale companion placed a hand on his shoulder.

Eomer sighed. "I am sorry. Hasufel! Arod!" Two horses answered his call, one grey the other a common bay. "May these these horses bear you into better fortune than their former masters. And perhaps," he added, looking straight at Gwyn. "You'd be willing to take this woman with you, since she seems to know something of your companions."

Gwyn's eyes widened. "May I?"

He seemed amused by the question. "I am not your keeper; you may go where you wish."

Well, well, maybe he wasn't so bad, after all. She looked to Aragorn, assuming rightly that he was the leader of the group.

He inclined his head politely, "If the lady wishes to aid us, she would be most welcome."

Gwynneth smiled widely, dismounting eagerly and with more skill than she remembered having. "Of course I'll help," she said as she approached, barely stumbling over the stones the horses had kicked up.

"Look for your friends," Eomer said, having remounted his horse. "But do not trust to hope. It has forsaken these lands." He turned to his men. "We ride North!"


	8. Chapter 8

Gwyn held herself still as Aragorn spurred their shared horse on, the animal's heavy breathing jarring her nerves. Gimli and Legolas rode beside them, their horse sounding a loud whinny. Gwynneth stiffened in response.

"Tell me," Gimli called from the other horse, Legolas handling the reins. "How did a bonny lass like you come to be in a band of orcs?"

"That's a difficult question," she replied, her eyes trained on the space between the horse's ears. "I guess you could say I just, sorta, fell into their grasp."

"And you've no notion how?" Legolas asked.

"Nope," she said, popping the 'p'. "I just woke up, and there I was."

"Look there." Aragorn interrupted, his voice a rumble against Gwynneth's back.

A plume of white smoke billowed from behind the rise of a hill, indicating the desolated remains of the _Orc_ camp. Aragorn reined in the horse, the poor beast whinnying in protest as he urged it closer to the burning mass of flesh and armor. When it would go no further, he dismounted, leaving Gwyn alone on a horse for the second time that day. She quickly swallowed her panic and slowly dismounted; finding Merry and Pippin was more important right now.

Gimli began digging through the smouldering pile with his axe, unwilling to touch the corpses with his hands, gloved or no. He turned to face the rest of the party, a charred bit of leather lying flat on his palm.

"'Tis one of their wee belts."

If anyone had asked her, Gwyn would have sworn her heart had stopped. Her fingers clutched at the horn Boromir had given her, the material straining under her grip. Finding Merry and Pippin had been the only thing that kept her focused in this strange world; if they were gone, what would she do?

She was brought from her thoughts as Aragorn yelled at the top of his lungs, kicking an idle helmet and falling to his knees.

"We failed them," said Gimli, his face worn and his eyes sad.

"This is my fault," Gwyn said, more to herself than anything. Legolas looked at her strangely, and she explained, "I was with them when this happened. If I had stayed near them, maybe Eomer would have picked them up, too."

"You were separated?" The elf asked.

Gwynneth shook her head. "Not exactly. I didn't-," she paused as her breath caught in a hiccupped sob. "I didn't know if the Riders would be hostile to everyone, not just the - the orcs, and since I'm a more obvious target, I thought they'd be safer if I left them." A tear rolled down her cheek and immediately wiped it away.

"You did what you thought was best, lass." Gimli comforted, leaning heavily on his axe, and she forced a smile for his benefit.

"A hobbit lay here." Everyone turned to look at Aragorn where he kneeled with one hand to the ground. He pressed his fingers to an indentation. "And the other."

He followed a trail only he could see, his hands following subtle changes in the grass beneath them. "They crawled." By now Legolas and Gimli were following him closely, trying to see what he saw in the ash and dirt, but Gwynneth stayed behind, watching bemusedly as he turned about, looking in all directions for something he might have missed. It was almost graceful, the way he dashed from clue to clue; just watching him made her homesick, the little stage at the studio calling to her from her memory. Looking up to find everyone almost at the edge of the forest, and she ran to catch up.

"The tracks lead away from the battle," Aragorn said, his eyes still trained to the ground as Gwyn joined the group. "Into Fangorn forest."

The bit of hope the three men had gathered fell from them almost visibly.

"Fangorn!" Gimli exclaimed. "What madness drove them in there?"

Gwyn looked from man to man, completely confused by their concern over a patch of forest.


	9. Chapter 9

Gwyn was glad they'd left the horses in the remains of the orc camp; one more hour on that thing and she'd have had a panic attack. Legolas had been extremely quiet ever since they'd crossed the forest's threshold, his eyes trained on the canopy above. Gimli held his axe close, ready to attack anything that might leap at him from the shadows while Aragorn kept his gaze on the ground.

"These are strange tracks," he murmured to himself, fingering a bit of strange material.

"The air is so close here," Gimli muttered, and Gwyn found she had to agree. With every step she took she could feel more and more eyes upon her, catching parts of whispers just beyond her hearing.

"This forest is old," Legolas said, finally coming out of his trance. "Very old. Full of memory...and anger."

Gwyn tensed as the trees around them began moaning as if bearing a great weight. Gimli, sensing the sudden animosity in the air, raised his axe defensively, his gaze on their branches.

"The trees are speaking to each other!" Legolas exclaimed, he and Aragorn whirling to look behind them.

"Gimli!" Aragorn scolded, his voice eliciting a startled yelp from both the dwarf and the human woman beside him. He gestured his his arm, "Lower your axe."

The smaller man loosened his grip on the weapon, raising his hands in placacance.

They continued on their way, and Gwyn was beginning to feel the effects of the fatigue that had built up over the last few days. Her feet ached from all the running, cuts and bruises stinging with every step. She found herself leaning on trees just to stay upright as the others forged on ahead.

Suddenly, Legolas spoke urgently in a language she could not under stand. Aragorn responded in kind, his expression grave. Legolas did not look at him as he answered.

"The White Wizard approaches."

Behind them, Gimli tensed and Aragorn clenched his fist,

"Do not let him speak," he said through gritted teeth. "He will put a spell on us."

Gwynneth watched as they all readied their weapons and, despite her lack of energy, managed to stand a little straighter.

"We must be quick." Aragorn whispered, and all three turned in perfect synchronization, Gimly throwing his axe and Legolas loosing an arrow. Both were deflected with audible twangs and thuds, and Gwynneth watched, wide eyed, as Aragorn's sword grew red hot in his hands.

"You are tracking the footsteps of two young hobbits," a deep voice intoned, and Gwyn was glad she couldn't see its owner, hidden as she was by the wide girth of a tree.

"Where are they?" Aragorn demanded, his face twisted with anger.

"They passed this way," the mysterious speaker replied, "the day before yesterday. They met someone they did not expect. Does that comfort you?"

"Who are you? Show yourself!"

A light Gwyn hadn't noticed before faded in response, and she could see the men all tense in obvious confusion. She was tempted to peek out and see who it was, but reasoned that it was probably no one she knew, anyway, so she might as well stay put. This decision may or may not have been made by her shaking legs.

"It cannot be," Aragorn whispered in awe, taking small steps toward the speaker as his companions fell to their knees as Gwyn so longed to do. "You fell."

"Through fire and water," the speaker agreed. "From the lowest dungeon to to highest peak I fought him-the Balrog of Morgoth- until, at last, I threw down my enemy and smite his ruin on the mountainside." Gwyn looked to Legolas and Gimli only to find them fully enraptured by the man's story. Slowly, she allowed herself to slide to the ground as he continued. "Darkness took me, and I strayed out of thought and time. Stars wheeled overhead, and every day was as long as the life age of the earth." She snorted sleepily, idly wondering what he'd smoked to have an experience like that. "But it was not the end. I felt light in me again. I've been sent back until my task is done."

Trippy.

Aragorn took another step forward, leaving Gwyn's line of sight. "Gandalf!"

"Gandalf? Oh, yes," the speaker sounded amused. "That's what they used to call me. Gandalf the Grey; that was my name."

"Gandalf!" Gimli exclaimed jubilantly.

"_I_ am Gandalf the white, and I have come back to you now, at the turn of the tide."

Gwyn yawned loudly, clapping a hand over her mouth as soon as the sound left her. Gimli cast her an amused glance, and she could feel the heat rising in her face.

"It would seem you have added to your party," the voice chuckled, its owner stepping out from behind the tree and revealing himself to be a tall elderly man in a white robe. His eyes widened upon seeing her. "Ah, I see. A visitor to our lands." He bowed his head, his white hair falling forward. "I welcome you, Gwynneth, Daughter of Glensworth."

Gwyn forgot her weariness in her surprise. "H-how do you know my name?" More importantly, how did he know her _father's_ name?

The old man smiled, "I know many things, including the future father of your children."

Gwyn tensed, her eyes meeting his in indignance. Did he know, or was he simply making a wild guess about her future. Women in these types of societies were expected to get married and have children, right? As she looked at him, though, her animosity left her to be replaced by a bone filling tiredness.

"You are tired," he extended his hand and gestured with his fingers before her face, speaking in that strange language that Legolas and Aragorn were using. Her eyelids grew even heavier, falling shut as she fell asleep.

* * *

**I really have to ask; is the canon dialogue a bit much? Because she's supposed to overhear it, but I feel that perhaps it might be getting a bit tedious, especially when it's so much. Tell me what you think.**


	10. Chapter 10

"...ear of trouble in Rohan. It goes ill with the King."

A low rumbling tickled Gwynneth's cheek, bringing her gently from the best sleep in days. Scratch that. Her only sleep in days. She'd read about the effects of adrenaline back when she'd first started going out with Don two years ago- with a job as dangerous as his, she'd wanted to know all of the specifics-, but she'd never have guessed it could suppress the throbbing pain she now felt in her feet and abdomen.

She resisted the urge to adjust her position; no way was she walking again for the next year. Perhaps they had wheelchairs here, in which case she was commandeering the first one she saw.

"Yes," the old man, Gandalf's, voice replied. "And it will not be easily cured."

"Then we have run all this way for nothing?" Gimli asked, "Are we to leave those poor hobbits here in this horrid, dark, dank, tree infested-," the atmosphere became noticeably heavier. "I mean charming, quite charming forest."  
Gwyn listened carefully for the answer, opening her eyes in her apprehension.

"It was more than mere coincidence that brought Merry and Pippin to Fangorn," Gandalf explained. " A great power has been sleeping here for many long years. The coming of Merry and Pippin will be like the falling of small stones that starts an avalanche in the mountains."

"In one thing you have not changed, dear friend." Aragorn chuckled, the vibrations in his chest rumbling through Gwyn's bones.

"Hmm?"

"You still speak in riddles."

Aragorn and Gandalf shared a laugh, and Gwyn couldn't help but ask, "So were _not _going after Merry and Pippin?"

Aragorn looked down at her, adjusting his grip on her shoulder as he answered. "We are needed elsewhere. The hobbits will be safe until we are free to return."

Gwyn said nothing for a moment, part of her really glad Aragorn hadn't put her down once she'd revealed she was awake and the other very confused about how they could be so confident about the little ones' safety.

"A thing is about to happen here that has not happened since the Elder Days," Gandalf said reassuringly. "The Ents are going to wake up and find that they are strong."

Gwynneth could only hope that the Ents were a warrior tribe hell bent on protecting children who were apparently not quite children.

"Strong? Oh, that's good." Gimli said in relief.

Gandalf chuckled. "So stop your fretting, Master Dwarf. Merry and Pippin are quite safe. In fact, they are far safer than you are about to be."

Gimli humphed, "This Gandalf's more grumpy than the old one."

Not even pretending to understand that comment, Gwyn looked up and met Aragorn's gaze. Swallowing nervously, she smiled lopsidedly. "You can put me down now; I can walk."

He raised an eyebrow at her, "You have run beside the Uruk-Hai for days, you _must_ be tired."

She'd only meant to be polite, but something about the way he said it irked her. "Oh, _must_ I? Put me down, please, I can walk just fine."

A small smile quirked at the corner of his mouth as he obliged, poised to catch her should she fall-which she didn't. No way was she giving him the satisfaction. Turning, she followed behind Legolas and Gimli, her steps slow but steady. Shielding her eyes, she stepped out of the forest, a field of rolling grass coming up to her knee as far as she could see in three directions. Something moved in her peripheral vision, and Gwyn turned, surprised to see that the horses they had ridden to the forest had somehow managed to follow them all the way from the campsite.

Beside her, Gandalf whistled piercingly, the sound rolling across the plain. After a moment, a neigh responded, almost in reply, a white horse appearing over the horizon, loping easily toward them. Legolas took an excited step forward.

"That is one of the Mearas, unless my eyes are cheated by some spell."

The horse approached Gandalf, his coat a beautiful grey with a black muzzle. The old man reached up and patted the creature on the nose.

"Shadowfax," he said, smiling. "He is the lord of all horses, and has been my friend through many dangers."

The wizard mounted with a grace Gwyn did not expect from a man his age, riding bareback. Legolas and Gimli also sat astride their shared horse, and Gwyn looked to see Aragorn patiently waiting for her to mount, kindly allowing her to ride in front again. Sighing, she carefully set her foot into the stirrup, woefully mourning the saddle's lack of pommel as she settled into it. Aragorn swung up behind her, his arms wrapping around her to claim the reigns, and then spurred the bay after the greys.

* * *

**I had originally planned to write this chapter in Aragorn's point of view, but it felt a bit odd switching points of view when I've been so consistent thus far. Do you think I should vary it up a little? Review review!**


	11. Chapter 11

Nestled against Aragorn's chest, Gwyn struggled to sleep as the horse's slow gait rocked her side to side. Her muscles were stiff from riding and sleeping on the ground, and her mouth felt like with was filled with sand from eating Legolas' "lambas" bread. Anyone who called that food was insane. That was _not_ food. That was _sustenance_. Food had flavor, made your senses burst, not wither up and die. She couldn't wait to get to this _Edolas_ place; they were bound to have something worth eating.

"Edoras," Gandalf said, probably reading her mind. "And the Golden hall of Meduseld. There dwells Theoden, King of Rohan, whose mind is overthrown." His tone became increasingly depondent. "Saruman's hold over King Theoden is now very strong."

As long as there was food, Gwyn really didn't care _who_ was in charge. She wondered idly if they had chocolate in this strange world. _They'd better_, she thought with ornery determination. _Milk chocolate, with peanut butter filling!_

* * *

By the time their group was actually _in_ Edoras, Gwynneth had given up on her craving. She hadn't seen any sign of the tropics during her escapade with the orcs, and chocolate was something _anyone_ would bring on a journey of any length or purpose. She sighed dejectedly, slumping against her riding partner for what had to be the hundredth time. Honestly, she blamed hormones.

"Be careful what you say," Gandalf said to all of them, his expression grave. "Do not look for welcome here."

The company rode past dirty people, their eyes guarded and suspicious as they regarded Gimli and Legolas. _Well_, Gwyn thought to herself. _Looks like_ _racism's still a thing_. Many of those gazes were also directed at her.

A sound caught her attention, and she and Aragorn both turned to watch a pointed flag fall from the sky, the white horse embossed against the green field crumpled and torn where it landed on the ground.

"You'll find more cheer in a graveyard," Gimli said in a hushed tone, all levity gone.

Aragorn stopped the horse, dismounting almost in unison with Gandalf and Legolas. Gwyn took the hand he offered, her previous annoyance with him forgotten not soon after his chest had proved to be a rather comfy pillow. He caught her as she stumbled, her knees giving out beneath her. She straightened, not doubting for a moment that he would carry her again if he thought she needed it. He had that frustrating half smile on his face again, and, as she turned, Gwynneth saw why. A flight of wide stairs lead up to equally wide doors, Gandalf and the others waiting at the bottom for her to catch up. Her face burning, she took Aragorn's offered hand and leaned on him- a bit more heavily than she would readily admit- as she took the steps one at a time, cringing visibly as her muscles protested.

At the top, a contingent of men armed in armor similar to that worn by Eomer's men.

"Ah," Gandalf said, as if he were pleasantly surprised to see them.

The leader, a round faced man with red hair and a thin beard, stepped forward and addressed the group.

"I cannot allow you before Theoden king so armed, Gandalf Grayame. By order of," his face twisted with distaste. "Grima Wormtongue."  
Huh, and she'd thought _Legolas_ was a funny name.

At a nod from Gandalf, everyone handed over their respective weapons. When the man turned to Gwynneth expectantly she raised her eyebrows at him, honestly surprised that he thought she could hide a weapon like Aragorn's sword or Gimli's axe under yoga pants and a tank-top.

"The Lady bears no weapons," Aragorn said in her stead, and the soldier turned to Gandalf without casting Gwyn so much as a second glance. She tried not to be insulted.

"Your staff."

Gandalf's expression became suddenly soft and confused. "Eh? Oh. No," his voice wavered. "You would not part an old man from his walking stick?"

The man gave the wizard a knowing look, but let him past anyway. The old man winked and grabbed hold of Legolas, leaning on him much the way Gwyn had been leaning on Aragorn. Hopefully she wouldn't have to now that the stairs were out of the way.

A painful twinge in her leg as she tried to walk told her, in no uncertain terms, that that was impossible.

* * *

**Voila! Finally, we've reached Edoras! Things are happening people!**


	12. Chapter 12

Aragorn held her steady as the five of them were lead through a hallway and into a large room. At one end, an old man who looked to be far older than even Gandalf sat in a large chair- a throne, she realized-and a small man with dark hair stood whispering in his ear.

"The courtesy of your hall is somewhat lessened of late, Theoden king."

The little man turned and whispered in the king's ear again.

"Why should I welcome you, Gandalf Stormcrow?" The wizened king asked, his voice bearing more strength than Gwynneth had expected.

"A just question, my liege." The small man said, and Gwyn pegged him immediately as an Olympic kiss-ass. Straightening, he approached the old wizard. "Late is the hour in which this conjurer chooses to appear. Lathspell I name him." His face twisted haughtily. "Ill news is an ill guest."

"Be silent!" Gandalf stepped forward, his booming voice reverberating through the hall. "Keep your forked tongue behind your teeth. I have not passed through fire and death to bandy crooked words with a witless worm!"

He raised his staff menacingly, and Wormtongue cowered visibly, shouting, "His staff! I _told_ you to take the wizard's staff!"

The men who had stopped them in front of the hall sprang into action, attacking Gandalf's now unarmed friends. Aragorn could not fight them and keep Gwynneth upright, and she stumbled away from the skirmish, swaying on her feet. She watched as Gandalf calmly approached the king on his throne, Legolas and the others fending off the men trying to reach him, and Gwyn let gravity claim her, falling to her knees in a painful slump. She could hear Gandalf saying something over the din of combat, but the words were lost.

Once all the attackers were down, the four men stood at the foot of Theoden's dais, Gandalf at their head. Gimli, having knocked Wormtongue onto the ground, drove his boot hard onto the small man's chest, growling something unintelligible. Out of nowhere, people began pouring into the throne room, all wanting to see what would happen. Gwyn managed to get out of their way, somehow, and leaned against a marble pillar in exhaustion.

The king's laughter rang out through the hall. "You have no power here," he said. "Gandalf the _Grey_."

The King's maniacal laughter continued for a moment, but stopped with a groan of pain as Gandalf threw off his grey over robe, revealing his white clothing. A struggle began between the king and the wizard, the former writhing on his throne. A woman in a white dress ran forward, only to be stopped by Aragorn. Gandalf raised his staff, speaking in low tones, and the old king was thrust powerfully against his throne. Falling forward, he was caught by the woman in white before he hit the ground.

A collective sensation of relief filled the air, the soldiers losing their tenseness and Gandalf heaving a visible sigh. From what Gwyn could see from her position in the back of the room, the king's decrepancy had faded, revealing a man in his late forties to early fifties with plenty of color in his hair. He looked to Gandalf in obvious awe, and the old man spoke as he rose.

"Breathe the free air again, my friend."

Theoden looked out among his gathered people, his face falling in realization. " Dark have been my dreams of late." He flexed his hands in front of his chest.

"Your fingers would remember their old strength better," Gandalf said with an audibly smile. "If they grasped your sword."

The leader of the soldiers in the hall approached the raised dais, a long, embellished sword in hand. Theoden took it, wielding it experimentally, before turning his gaze to Grima Wormtongue, whose fancy cloak was firmly in Gimli's grasp.

* * *

**Quite a bit of canon dialogue was skipped over here, but Gwyn couldn't realistically here it from where she sat, so I couldn't, realistically, write it in. There'll be more actual interaction in the next chapter, but I couldn't just skip this part. Once again, if all of the canon dialogue is too tedious, let me know and I'll try to find an alternative.**


	13. Chapter 13

Gwyn rested her head on the pillar against her back, her eyes closed in the sudden silence of the hall. Theoden had had Wormtongue tossed from the hall, and everyone who'd gathered in it had gone to play spectator, leaving her behind. Not that she really minded - going up those stairs again would surely be the death of her - , but she couldn't help but feel like a burden. Everyone in the party could fight, obviously had stamina if they were running after the Uruk-Hai for as long as she was running _with_ them and felt none of the pain she did. She cradled Boromir's horn, her fingers tracing the crack in the smooth bone. Promising to take it to Gondor had seemed like a good idea at the time, but now it felt incredibly pretentious. Who was she to join in some epic quest straight out of the movies? She was a dancer, not a soldier, and pregnant besides - if she hadn't already lost it. Her hand fell to her stomach, guilt eating at her heart.

She should have called her mother.

Tears welled in her eyes at the thought of the older woman, the memory of her dark eyes and ready smile blurred in her mind. Sniffing, Gwyn looked at her arms, her dark skin tone, so different from anyone else's in this world, probably the only thing she had inherited from Marie Donavan. Her eyes were her father's, and her vibrant hair color a throw back from some grandfather or another who she'd never met. Placing both hands over her abdomen, she tried to imagine what her mother would have done if she could see her now.

_Probably slap me._ She snorted at the thought, tears rolling down her cheeks even as she smiled. Her knees creaked painfully as she pulled them up to her chest, and she cursed herself for not letting Aragorn carry her when he'd offered. A knot of guilt rose in her throat, intensifying her weeping; she'd been so stubborn with him, snubbing his kindness every chance she got for the sake of her pride. Since when had she been such a jerk?

A hand shook her shoulder, and she looked up into concerned grey eyes.

"My lady," Aragorn began, worry heavy in his voice. "Does something trouble you?"

Gwyn's tears began falling with renewed anguish. "I'm s-sorry," she ground out, wiping her eyes with the back of her hands. "I-I'll stop."

"No," he drew out the word, as if admonishing a child, positioning himself on his knees in front of her. "No, you have been through much; no one will think less of you for your tears."

He tugged at her arms, pulling her gently to her feet and graciously allowing her to lean on him yet again. He called for the attention of the young blonde woman Gwyn had noticed before, and she came eagerly.

"This woman has travelled far and requires medical attention," he told her before turning to Gwyn. "This is Eowyn, sister of Eomer and niece to Theoden king, she will aid you."

She nodded, not meeting the other woman's gaze as Aragorn handed her off.

Now there was no one to lean on.

* * *

**So, this chapter is incredibly short...Sorry about that...**


	14. Chapter 14

Gwyn sat in a high backed chair as Eowyn ran her fingers through her freshly washed hair. She'd been pleasantly surprised to find that this seemingly medieval world had "hair soaps", as they called them. Nothing for hair with texture like hers, but she still left the brass tub feeling clean and refreshed. The bandages on her feet itched, but she had relished in the cool ointment she had been given, the aches and pains of many days on the road fading swiftly. Eowyn sighed behind her, and Gwynneth shared in her frustration; her hair was nigh unmanageable even under peak conditions.

"I'm afraid that's the best I can do," the blonde said despondently.

Gwyn chuckled, looking at herself in the warped mirror. "It's better than I've ever done. Thank you for taking the time to wrestle with it."

Eowyn laughed, a soft, feminine sound. "It is a beautiful color."

"Oh, you don't have to flatter me, I know it's horrendous," she stood, grimacing as she pulled the skirts of her borrowed dress around her. "I only wish I could do this justice." The mourning black cloth had obviously been cut for someone else.

Eowyn rushed to the defense of her pride. "Oh, no, it flatters you nicely. It brings emphasis to your hair." Her wild, unruly hair.

Gwyn's small smile became a full grin; it was impossible to wallow with a woman like Eowyn around. She just seemed so content and eager to please, not smiling seemed like an insult.

"I'll take your word for it."

Eowyn graciously helped her to the edge of the bed, where a simple cane stood propped. Taking it, Gwyn couldn't help but feel a little old.

"Your lord Aragorn is very kind." The words caught Gwynneth by surprise, but Eowyn continued quickly before she could reply. "He stopped my uncle from killing Grima Wormtongue."

"I can't imagine why."

Eowyn looked scandalized, "For a lord as great as he to spare the life of one so lowly, it is a great mercy."

Gwyn hummed in agreement, not entirely willing to isolate the first woman she'd met since coming to this world. She had no difficulty seeing the grim Aragorn as a lord; he gave off the air of a man given too much responsibility far too soon. Still, it was obvious that Eowyn was infatuated.

_Ah, young love_,she thought, smiling as she followed the slightly taller woman out of the room and down a hall. _I remember when I fell in love so easily_. It was odd to be reminiscing as if she were past her prime - she was only twenty eight.

"My lady!" A servant ran up to Eowyn, her hands all aflutter. "Your uncle requests your presence."

They exchanged a glance before following the older woman into the throne room.

It looked so different from when she'd first set eyes on it. Fires were lit and warm tapestries were hung, giving the once cold room a feeling of homeyness that Gwyn sorely missed. She could smell something cooking, and she pined for her mother's famous shrimp gumbo. Two children sat at a wooden table, looking worse for wear. Eowyn rushed to their side, putting an arm around the younger of the two, a small blonde girl with a round face. Gwyn felt something twist inside her, an odd reaction, considering how often she dealt with children in her line of work. Still, the idea of comforting another woman's child when her own might be... She shook herself mentally, slowly approaching the boy. He stopped eating to look up at her, his eyes filled with curiosity.

"Where are you from?" He asked in wonder.

She blushed under his gaze, suddenly self conscious. "Nowhere near here."

He seemed to take her answer and chew it in his mouth, his lips pursing in thought. An idea crossed his face and he looked up in excitement. "Are you from across the sea?"

She felt a small smile twitch at her lips. "Maybe."

"They had no warning," Eowyn said to her uncle, her voice filled with maternal concern. "They were unarmed, and now the wildmen are moving through the westfold, burning as they go; every rick, cot, and tree."

Gwyn felt a sense of dread settle in her bones. So these children were victims of war. That would certainly explain their tired eyes and wan faces.

"Where's mamma?" The girl asked, desperate, only to be hushed rather brusquely by Eowyn.

She sat down on the bench beside the boy as Gandalf and the king spoke. "What's your name?" she asked.

"Eothain," he answered strongly. "And this is my sister, Freda," he added, twisting in his seat to gesture at the younger child.

"I'm Gwyn, it's nice to meet you, Eothain." She wondered if the prefix "Eo" meant something special, since so many names seemed to use it. "So you two came here on your own to warn the king? That was very brave of you."

Eothain's face fell slightly, and he glanced at his sibling before replying. "We came because our mother told us to. We couldn't all fit on Gerald, so we had to leave her behind." The boy's eyes filled with unshed tears, and Gwyn floundered for something to say that could keep them that way.

"There now," she placed a hand awkwardly on his shoulder. "I've just recently left my mother behind, too." He looked up at her in disbelief, and she gathered her courage. "I wasn't still living with her, like you were, but I didn't get to say goodbye. I have confidence that she'll be fine, though," she added with false cheer. "She'd a strong woman, and can take care of herself. I'm sure your mother's doing just fine, now that she can focus on herself and doesn't have to worry about you two." That was a lie, mothers never stopped worrying about their children, but it seemed to ease the child's worries nonetheless.

If only it could do the same for hers.

* * *

**Tada, a slightly longer chapter than last time! I'm sorry for not updating last week, but it was pretty hectic, to say the least. So I'm updating early! I may or may not have another update for you guys by Wednesday, but I will have one this week, to make up for lost time. Toodles!**

**P.s. I am pleased to announce that we cracked 3,000 views with this chapter! :D**


	15. Chapter 15

"My lady, I understand your reluctance, but we really must leave."

That still didn't explain why she had to get on a horse again. Gwyn looked up at Aragorn, leaning heavily on her cane. "Lots of people are walking, why can't I?" She knew she was being stubborn, but just standing beside the animal brought back horrible memories. The tall man looked down at her in exasperation, and she instantly felt guilty for causing him trouble. "Alright, alright. I'll ride."

He gave her a boost into the saddle, her legs screaming in protest all the way. She hadn't been on a horse this often since - she trashed that thought, holding herself still as the beast moved beneath her.

"Is there a reason you fear horses, my lady?" Aragorn asked as he mounted up behind her, settling the animal with a deft hand.

"Not really," she said, trying desperately to get the thought of flying hooves out of her mind. "I just know what they're capable of, and it frightens me."

Aragorn hummed noncommittally against her back, and they left the stable of Meduseld and joined the undulating throng of people crowding the streets of Edoras.

* * *

If she had to watch Eowyn pose herself specifically for Aragorn's benefit one more time, she'd murder someone. The blonde had purposely set herself just ahead of their group, and she often turned back to look at them, or, rather, him, under the guise of laughing or fixing her hair. Ugh, it was positively aggravating. Gwyn hadn't missed the other woman's frown when she'd seen her sharing a saddle with the guy, either. Not so subtle you are, young padawan.

Aragorn adjusted his grip on the reins, and Eowyn's gaze darkened. So much for that friendship. Honestly, Gwyn found it hard to understand how she'd come to be so possessive over a man she'd met a day ago. Sure, he'd done a bit of swordplay with her, given the occasional encouraging word, but that was nothing to obsess over. The Rohirrim princess wasn't all that much younger than she was, but she was acting like a middle schooler with her first crush.

Then again, maybe Aragorn _was_ her first crush.

Gwyn shuddered at the thought.

_Ah, here she comes._

Eowyn slowed, offering a hand to Gimli, who, for the first time, sat alone astride his horse. He began telling some nonsense about female dwarves being androgynous, and she laughed loudly.

"It's the beards." Aragorn said, a smile in his voice, and Gwyn couldn't help but chuckle.

Gimli laughed, continuing his story, but at some point his balance was upset, and he tumbled from his mount, the horse's eyes wide with anxiety. Though he laughed this off too, denouncing it as deliberate, Gwyn couldn't help the unhealthy skip in her heart beat.

Aragorn placed a hand on her arm. "Are you well, my lady?"

She drew a shaky breath, a vain effort to calm her nerves. "Fine. I'm fine, thank you."

She felt his sigh against her neck, and she silently vowed to be nicer to him from then on.

* * *

Gwyn lay spread eagle across the grass, enjoying the cool breeze as it brushed across her face. Granted, it was probably very inappropriate to do that in a skirt, but she couldn't bring herself to care.

"Would you like some stew?"

Gwyn opened her eyes to find Eowyn looking down at her with a bemused expression.

"Sure, thank you." She sat up and accepted a bowl, watching as the other woman approached Aragorn with her couldron. Sipping idly, she nearly spat out the watery monstrosity the moment it hit her tongue. Flavorless and over salted, it was painfully apparent that Eowyn had never cooked a day in her life. She looked over at Aragorn with pity; the poor man had almost been caught dumping his ration.

"My uncle said a strange thing," Eowyn was saying as Gwyn discretely set her bowl aside. " He said that you rode to war with Thengel, my grandfather, but he must be mistaken."

Gwyn would have agreed, except Aragorn said, "King Theoden has a good memory. He was only a small child at the time."

Gwynneth turned to look directly at him, surely he was pulling the poor girl's leg.

Eowyn looked just as skeptical. "Then you must be at least sixty." Aragorn shook his head. "Seventy? But you cannot be eighty!"

"Eighty seven."

_Amazing. His beauty regimen must be extensive_.

"You are one of the Dunedan, blessed with long life. It was said your race had passed into legend." Eowyn looked as confused as Gwyn felt. So there were _more_ races beside elves, dwarves, orcs, and men?

Aragorn looked grimly at his stew. "There are few of us left," he said. "The Northern Kingdom was destroyed long ago."

"I'm sorry." The blonde put on a false smile, no doubt kicking herself for bringing up such a sensitive topic. "Please eat."

"I wouldn't," Gwyn said once she was out of earshot. Aragorn's grey eyes met hers in amusement. "Nasty stuff."

He snorted, a small smile gracing his lips as he dumped the disgusting mixture.

"So are you really that old?" He looked at her strangely as she continued, drawing her knees up to her chest. "You know, my world is very different from this one. We can cure most diseases and replace lost limbs, and our warfare is far less personal, but the one thing we have sought since time immemorable, you claim as part of your ancestry. I used to wonder what it would be like, to live so long, to keep my youth despite the years." She lay her head atop her knees. "I imagine it might be fun, at first, but, eventually, I think I might get tired."

Aragorn looked at her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then he sighed and looked away, a wistful look in his eyes.

"You'd be right."

* * *

**There's a lot of cuts in this one...Sorry about that.**


	16. Chapter 16

Gwyn sat stiffly astride her horse, trying very hard to trust Aragorn as he walked beside it, reins in hand. Eowyn stood beside him, a smile on her face.

"Where is she? The woman who gave you that jewel?"

Who said a woman gave it to him? How does she know it isn't because he likes feeling fancy? Gwynneth laughed at her thoughts, but she had honestly never noticed a jewel. Looking down, she saw silver chain against his neck.

Aragorn was silent for a time, and a concerned look crossed Eowyn's face.

"My lord?"

"She is sailing to the undying lands, with all that is left of her kin."

The look on Eowyn's face was priceless, but Gwyn felt her pain. Aragorn was in love with a woman who would soon be gone, and as the years went by her memory would become more and more perfect, ultimately reaching the point where no other would ever be able to compare. She'd been in that position before, and it was a bitch to get out of.

There was a ruckus at the front of the column, and Aragorn neglected to steady the nervous horse.

"A scout!" Cried Legolas, and Gwyn heard the man beside her curse.

"Wargs!" He yelled. "We're under attack!" He looked up at her, an urgency in his eyes that she had never seen on anyone before. Reaching up, he caught her around her waist and pulled her from the saddle, setting her on the ground with a rough gentility. "Forgive me, my lady, but I must go."

She caught his arm as he mounted, and he looked at her impatiently. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she spoke quietly. "Be safe."

The harsh glint in his eyes did not soften as he nodded, spurring his mount into motion. She watched him ride off to face whatever the hell a Warg was, over hearing Eowyn's bratty tantrum over not being allowed to fight. Why would she? Did she think battle was nothing but God, Gold, and Glory? Gwyn had never been in combat, but she'd known many people in her life with prosthetic limbs and gruesome facial scars that marred more than just their appearances. The stories those men told were not of riches or honor, but of innocent lives lost and friends killed. Surely, in this medieval world, the reality of war was much closer to home, so why was Eowyn so eager to throw her innocence away?

Someone screamed behind them, and Eowyn paused in her orders to look back. Gwyn followed her gaze and gasped. A large hyena like creature stood over the body of a woman, its muzzle stained red as it partook of her flesh. On its back was an orc, his ugly face twisted into a cruel smile as he looked at the crowd. Eowyn grabbed a sword from somewhere and charged the beast, a warcry piercing the air. Gwynneth shook her head in disbelief; could any one being really be so stupid?

The animal looked up, its teeth bared, and easily dodged the noisy attack. It growled menacingly, sending the townspeople into a panicked frenzy. Gwyn scowled.

"Eowyn, stop your dallying and get your act together. There are people who need your attention more than the beast!" She added when the blonde dared to glare back at her. Eowyn took a moment, but she ran from the mounted orc, shouting orders to her people as she passed. Gwyn turned to follow, but movement caught her eye. Looking back, she saw Eothain and Freda cowering below the Warg, it's rider hefting a spear. Thinking quickly, she reached down and removed her borrowed shoe, chucking it at the beast-man's head.

"Hey!" she shouted. "Pick on someone your own size!"

He growled at her, pulling his mount away from the children and directing it toward something that fit that description perfectly.

Shit.

Gwyn swallowed the lump of fear that had gathered in her throat, determined to stand her ground long enough to buy the children some time. The way the orc looked at her as he brought his beast around sent shivers down her spine, and she was confronted with the gruesome fact that she might not live through this. She would never see her mother again, she'd never get to murder Don, and Tanya would steal all her stuff. But that was ok, she could deal with that if it meant that Eothain had a chance to meet his mother at Helm's Deep.

"Yeah, that's right," she shouted, backing away slowly in an attempt to distance the Warg rider from the children. "Come and get me." Once she was certain she had his complete attention, she turned and ran. She hadn't gone very far when her pursuer overtook her, wrenching her across the Warg's back. She felt familiar muscles clench beneath her, and she was yanked into an upright position, the orc's tongue lathering the back of her neck with saliva. She resisted the urge to gag; if she was going to die, she would die with her dignity intact.

Suddenly, the Warg was hit by something, and she almost fell from its back. Turning, she was surprised to see Aragorn battling the orc behind her. His face was set in determination, but he lost his sword and was kicked off the Warg. The orc leapt off, as well, leaving Gwyn alone on the animal. She twisted in her seat, trying to find a way to get off without dying, but instead found Aragorn still attached to the Warg's harness. Leaning over, she reached out to him with one hand while clinging to the beast's mane with the other.

"Take my hand!" She cried, and he reached for her, stretching in vain to catch her arm. She leaned over further, and, just as their hands met, was launched from the back of her mount, and over the side of a cliff.

* * *

**I rewrote this chapter, so it should flow a bit more realistically. Once again, prepare for feels.**


	17. Chapter 17

Gwyn opened her eyes to pain. A great stinging in her back urged her to roll over onto her stomach, but when she tried, a sharp burning sensation in her lower abdomen sent her back to the ground. Panting from exertion, she took a moment to think. She was wet, and water was flowing over her legs, so she was probably in a river. Looking up she saw the cliff line, but there was no sign of anyone up there. She looked to either side of her, and saw a horse drinking idly. Something caught on her leg, and she twisted to see.

She pulled herself up immediately. "Aragorn!" she shouted, ignoring the pain as she pulled him from the water. "Aragorn, wake up!"

His brow furrowed, and he opened his eyes slowly. "My lady?"

She smiled and gave a breathless laugh, brushing his wet hair from his face. "You're ok."

His gaze moved to look at something beyond her, and he pushed himself up into a sitting position.

"We fell," he spoke slowly, his voice rough and gravelly.

"Yeah," Gwyn confirmed, holding herself tightly as if to erase the horror of the experience.

"We survived."

"Yeah."

They sat in silence for a moment, looking at the cliffs above, when another pang erupted through Gwyn's abdomen. She crumpled over in pain, baffled as to what could have caused the cramp.

A sharp intake of breath caught her attention. "My lady, you are injured." She tensed as Aragorn's hand brushed her back, a stinging sensation spreading across it.

She opened her mouth to respond, but the cramping intensified, and she groaned. Nausea welled in the back of her throat, and she was overcome with a sudden sadness as she realized what was happening. The fall from the cliff had done what running with the Uruk Hai had not. She looked down, tears springing forth at the sight of the blood flowing away with the river. She'd considered her baby a nuisance before, but now that it was gone she missed it. It was _her_ baby, and now she'd never know if it looked more like her or its father, would never see its first steps, or its smile.

Aragorn grabbed her by the arms and pulled her up to look at him. "My lady, what is wrong? Are you injured elsewhere?" She shook her head, and attempted to close back in on herself. Aragorn held her fast. "I cannot help you if you do not tell me how."

She shook her head again, and he sighed heavily, releasing her arms and letting her crumple.

"I promise, it will not hurt your pride to tell me." She looked up, taking in his concern filled eyes and stubborn set of his jaw, and immediately felt guilty.

"It's not that," she began, her voice shaking. "It's just...it's...my baby..." She was cut off by a sob, and understanding crossed his face. He pulled her close to him, whispering things in that beautiful language he called Elvish, careful not to touch whatever injury was on her back.

"I am sorry," he started, sadness heavy in his voice, and she interrupted him.

"No, it's my fault, I - I didn't think this through."

He placed a hand at the base of her neck, kneading it comfortingly. "Even so, I would not wish this on any woman." He pressed his lips to her temple in a brotherly fashion. "I will wait until you are ready to leave."

Gwynneth felt the tears well in her eyes again, this time in gratitude, as she allowed herself to slump against the kind Lord Aragorn that Eowyn had lauded.


	18. Chapter 18

Aragorn was silent as they rode through the wilderness at a reasonably even pace. He'd asked no questions since discovering that she'd been pregnant, and while Gwyn was grateful for the respect to her privacy, she knew he was curious. The constant glances had proven it.

She cleared her throat. "You asked me, before, about why I'm scared of horses." When Aragorn said nothing, she continued. "Well, I wasn't always. My father worked with them, you see. He rode them for the entertainment of others." She paused, pulling her arms around herself and wincing when the action pulled at the cut on her back. "He was a rodeo rider. The horses he rode were half-broken at best, utterly wild at worst, but he loved it. And my mother loved him."

Aragorn shifted behind her, "Something happened." It wasn't a question.

Gwyn nodded, remembering. "Yeah, it did. One day, at a show, there was this particularly ornery horse, supposedly fresh off the mountains. "The Devil's Own," he was called, and he'd never had a man on his back before. Normally, horses like him are reserved for the most experienced riders, but I guess there was a bet of sorts and a newbie drew the short straw. My father didn't know about it until the last minute before the kid got on the horse, but when he found out he switched places with him immediately. The stirrups were too short, and the bit was harsh," she sighed. "I was in the stands that day, and I watched as my father was thrown from The Devil's back and ground into the dust."

They were both quiet for a moment as they ambled on, and Gwyn closed her eyes against the tears that should have been there. It was odd, it used to be that whenever she so much as thought of her father she would burst into tears, but now...it was as if all her tears had dried. She'd never been able to talk about it before.

"I am sorry for your loss."

She gave a small, humorless laugh. "It's fine, it was...twenty three years ago. I've since forgotten exactly what he looked like."

"And your mother?" Aragorn asked after another moment of silence.

Gwyn couldn't help but smile. "My mother is beautiful. She's the strongest woman I've ever met. I've never seen her cry, you know - not even at the funeral - , but I'm sure she wanted to."

His voice was a low hum against her back. "She sounds extraordinary."

She couldn't tell if he was serious or not - he had that "I'm smiling" sound to him - , but she blushed in satisfaction just the same.

"She is. She built herself up from the ground, you know? Rose from the slums of the Quarter all on her own. When I was thirteen, we bought our own restaurant. I was her only employee, of course, but, after years of scrimping and saving, we did it." Her face fell. "Last I heard from her, she was thinking about expanding to another part of the city."

A sporadic cramp had her cringing, one hand clutching at the fabric of her dress. If a miscarriage was this bad, she'd hate to imagine birth. A wave of sadness overcame her exuberance and she sighed.

Aragorn halted the horse, and she looked up to see what had caused it, gasping at the sight. An army stretched out across the plain below them, the dark figures stark against the yellow of the dried grass of the hills. Aragorn cursed and kicked their mouth into a loping gallop, holding her still against him with one hand on her waist.

* * *

**A bit of background on Gwyn. **


	19. Chapter 19

Gwyn had never been happier to see a castle in a canyon. Then again, she'd never actually seen one before. Either way, with the walls of Helm's Deep rising high behind her she felt safer than she had in days. Aragorn dismounted only to be tackled by his Dwarf friend, and Gwyn chuckled at the display of affection.

"Bless you, laddie!"

"Where is the king?" Aragorn asked, getting straight to business. After receiving an inaudible answer, he turned and pulled Gwyn from the saddle, settling her into his arms like he had in forest so long ago. This time, she didn't protest, allowing herself to be carried like a child. She didn't want to walk, not yet; she'd only gotten on the horse because she knew Aragorn had somewhere to be. She was jostled as he jogged up a short flight of stairs, a high roof coming over their heads.

Aragorn stopped to speak with Legolas, and Gwyn turned, instinctively meeting Eowyn's gaze. The woman looked like hell, puffy eyed and red nosed, she had obviously been crying. What joy she might have felt at Aragorn's reappearance was now tempered by the loathing in her eyes as she looked at Gwynneth, and the prone woman couldn't help but feel a bit insulted.

_Does she honestly think I'm taking advantage of him?_ she wondered. _Do I seem like that kind of person?_

Gathering the tattered remains of her pride, she tugged on Aragorn's shirt, gaining his attention.

"You don't have to carry me," she said, happy when her voice didn't waver. "I can walk."

His brow creased in a way that was fast becoming familiar. "But, my lady, after what you have suffered-."

She cut him off. "I appreciate the gesture, really, I do, but I need to walk."

He looked skeptical, but set her down gently all the same, holding her up by her waist. From this angle, Gwyn was able to see all the raw patches of skin caused by his fall, and she couldn't help but wonder if she had some, too. Sure enough, as soon as she thought it, the aching popped up in her back again, incredibly fierce where Aragorn's arm brushed against it. Steeling herself and her pride, she let him lead her into the hall at Helm's Deep.

* * *

**Sorry these chapters have been getting shorter and shorter lately. I almost didn't update today, because I wasn't sure this was enough. I'm having a lot of tests this week, so I haven't had much time to write, but spring break is coming up next week, so expect more then! I'm planning on having the Battle of Helm's Deep scene up by then, so look forward to it!**


	20. Chapter 20

Aragorn stopped by for what seemed like the thousandth time since he'd helped her into the caves below the fortress with the other women and children. He placed a hand on her shoulder, his face twisted with concern. "My lady, I implore you, seek a midwife."

Gwyn shook her head, "No, I won't put myself before anyone else who needs attention. It's not so bad, really I-." She cut off mid sentence as another cramp wracked her body, and Aragorn sighed, tightlipped.

"My lady, please..." He trailed off at the determined expression on her face, then leaned in close, his voice a whisper. "Gwynneth, you _must_ seek medical care. You fell from the cliff, same as I, any midwife would tend you."

She looked up at him, mildly surprised by the genuine worry she saw in his grey eyes. "And what about the other women who've lost children during this mass migration? They had no choice, but I...I was stupid. They should be treated first." She placed a hand on his arm, careful of the still open wound there. "I'm grateful for your concern, Aragorn, but stuff like this happens all the time; you can't save everyone."

His jaw clenched, and for a moment she worried that she'd made him angry, but he pressed his forehead to hers in a familiar way. "Promise me you'll be safe."

It was odd how close they'd grown after their near death experience, something she was sure Eowyn had noticed, but she had to admit that it was nice having someone to turn to in this strange place, even if he wasn't exactly normal, himself.

"I promise I'll try."

He seemed dissatisfied with her answer, but someone called for him and he sighed. "Stay here."

She watched him walk away, his limp more pronounced than before._ You idiot, _you're_ the one who needs help._

* * *

**I am so ashamed of this chapter. Not only is it my shortest chapter yet (Kill me now) but I didn't get to work on it _nearly_ as much as I'd have liked. I promised you a battle, and a battle you'll get, but my spring break is being encroached upon by a "Mandatory SAT Study Camp". Ugh. I hate the education system. Plus, I have rehearsals, _AGAIN!_ Nevertheless, I _will_ get the battle scene up by the end of the week. This I swear.**


	21. Chapter 21

All around her, mothers held their children close as they prayed for the safety of husbands or sons out fighting above, and Gwyn held herself tightly in the corner, feeling oddly out of place. Eowyn sat speaking with one of the younger women, her back ramrod straight in her anger. She'd finally come down into the caves shortly before they were sealed off by select soldiers left to guard the weak and vulnerable. She wasted no time coming to Gwyn, her blue eyes flashing.

"Aragorn will not let me fight." She'd announced, quite sure of herself.

Gwyn had feigned confusion, satisfying her own spiteful need for sarcasm. "Why would he do that? Don't you have experience in battle?"

Eowyn had had the grace to look away, but her anger was too hot for her to let it go. "No, but I have trained since I was a child-."

"And _he's_ been training for four times as long." Gwyn had rolled her eyes, a bad move in retrospect. "What use are you up there if you can't even be useful here?"

Now Gwyn sat by herself, shunned by the first woman she'd met in this world. Her mother had always told her to think before she spoke, a lesson she should have taken to heart.

An explosion wracked the walls suddenly, women and children screaming.

"What sorcery is this?" Eowyn cried, clutching a child to her breast. "Do these beasts employ thunder against us?"

Gwyn snorted in disbelief. "It's just gunpowder, nothing to be afraid of." Hundreds of eyes fell upon her, and she would have shrunk before them were she not used to being on display. "If the sound was anything to go by, it probably didn't do much damage."

"You have experience with such weapons?" One woman asked, her red hair hanging in damp curls around her face.

Gwyn nodded, willing to give these people any bit of confidence she could supply. "Yes, where I come from it's widely used. Mainly for large scale construction or for clearing roads, but sometimes we'll use it for war." Why use dynamite when you have nukes?

A small hand tugged at her skirt, and, to her surprise, there stood the little girl she'd met in Edoras.

"Mama, look! I told you Eothain wasn't lying! See!" A woman who looked a lot like Freda came from the crowd and collected her daughter, bowing in apology.

"Forgive my daughter, Lady. She knows not what she does."

Gwyn smiled, holding up her hands in placacance. "It's alright, ma'am. You are Eothain's mother?"

The woman's eyes widened as she nodded, looking at Gwyn with unadulterated awe. "Then he was telling the truth? You are a lady from across the sea?"

Whispers spawned at that, and Gwyn nodded again, cornered into continuing the lie.

The woman's facade crumbled, and she held her daughter tightly. "And I was so cruel to him. My boy will die and when last we spoke I was scolding him!"

Freda began to cry and the overall sense of doom increased in their immediate vicinity. Gwyn, panicking, said the first this that came to mind.

"Hey, Freda, do you want to hear a song?" The little girl hushed her wailing, her attention span only so long, and Gwyn took this as a signal to continue. "It'll make you happy..."

The little blonde nodded into her mother's shoulder and Gwyn cleared her throat, suddenly nervous as she tried to remember the chorus.

"You are my sunshine, my only sunshine

you make me happy when skies are gray

you'll never know, dear, how much I love you,

please don't take my sunshine away."

She paused, wracking her brain for a verse that wasn't sad or vindictive, but little Freda already looked so much happier and her mother seemed a lot calmer than she had before. Smothering her nerves, Gwyn looked out at all the children who sat cowering in the arms of their parents.

"Does anyone want to hear a story?"

* * *

"...and they all lived happily ever after."

Several of the children that had gathered around to hear Gwyn's stories yawned, while others snored softly in the arms of their mothers. It felt good to finally contribute _something_, even if it _was_ just peace of mind. The overwhelming sense of panic had gone down some in the hours since the battle began, but the sounds of fighting hadn't lessened, and Gwyn had a sinking feeling that it would go on for much, much longer. At least the cramps she'd been having had stopped, her body opting instead for a constant, ever present ache in her lower abdomen.

Someone banged at the great door separating them from the rest of the keep, and what chatter there was stilled. The door opened, and several men rushed in carrying their fellows, yelling for someone to care for the injured. Several women rushed onto the scene, more anxious to find out if one of their own had been brought in than to actually help. Eowyn was among them, no doubt worried that Aragorn had been wounded.

_Silly woman; that man will either win or die trying._

Suddenly, an outcry silenced the scant whispers in the cave, and Gwyn covered her mouth in mixed shock and disgust as the crowd parted to reveal little Eothain, soaked in blood. HIs mother cradled him against her chest, her tears falling freely. Eowyn, ever the one to take charge, placed a hand on the woman's shoulder.

"He is not dead yet, we can still save him." She looked around, her voice carrying through the small space. "Is there anyone who is skilled in medicine here?"

Everyone was silent. Gwyn gnawed at the inside of her cheek, her mind twisted in on itself as she thought. There was obviously no one with any experience tending these kinds of injuries in the caves, and, even if there were, they didn't exactly have standard first aid kits hanging on the walls. Would they have clean bandages? If they had to use sutures, would they properly sanitize the needle before using it on someone else? Would they saw off perfectly good limbs just because they didn't know how to handle a certain kind of break? Was it possible to watch too many Civil War documentaries?

Gwyn stood abruptly, her fists clenched at her sides. Eowyn looked at her warily, and she took a steadying breath.

"I know a thing or two."

The blonde princess nodded decisively, "I will leave him to you, then."

Gwyn approached the little boy she'd met back in Edoras, whose life she'd saved on the way to Helm's Deep, and whose eyes might never open again. She steeled herself, reaching deep to find even a smidge of her mother's courage before turning to his mother.

"If you want your son to live, you must do exactly as I say."


	22. Chapter 22

"My lady, what do we do here?"

"Hold him down," Gwyn replied, wiping sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand. She dipped it into the scalding water in the bowl beside her, hopefully killing off any infectious germs in the process. She carefully avoided the man's gaze as she held the gash along his chest closed. Her hands were quickly covered in blood, a sight that had made her gag the first few times, but, as a woman, she'd had her fair share of experience with the stuff.

"Hurry," she called, and a woman appeared at her side, a needle and thread in her hands, both gleaming with wetness. The women had all been sceptical when she'd insisted on boiling everything before using it one the injured, but eventually there were so many that they just stopped questioning her. Gwyn didn't avert her eyes as the needle punctured flesh, the man writhing beneath the hands of two hardy women, their grips made strong after years of fieldwork. Halfway through the stitching, the man went limp as he fainted. The women all shared a knowing look; he wasn't the first one.

A hand fell on Gwyn's shoulder, and she turned.

"Aragorn!" She exclaimed, immediately looking him over for injuries. "Are you hurt?" She pressed her hands to his face, running them down his arms for the tell tale wetness of blood, but he was dripping. It must have been raining outside.

He frowned. "Have you seen a midwife, yet?"

"What? Oh, no, I haven't had time."

His jaw clenched and he grabbed hold of her shoulders. "You have been working this entire time?"

"Well, no," she mumbled. "I was telling the kids stories in the beginning..."

He sighed as she trailed off, and she felt her face heat up in shame.

"I'm sorry," she bit out, her tone angrier than she'd anticipated. "I thought I told you I didn't want to put myself before anyone else?"

Aragorn sighed, his grip on her tightening. "It would be best if you took a moment for yourself. No one will blame you for receiving treatment-."

"_I_ will, though." She interjected, turning away from him. "I can't just sit by and do nothing! I've done nothing but that ever since I got here."

"You know that isn't true."

"Isn't it?" She looked him in the eye, "The only thing I've managed to do is make a promise I don't know how to keep." She reached for the horn where it hung around her neck - and grasped at air.

She looked down, horrified. In her panic, she stumbled, and only Aragorn's hands on her shoulders kept her from falling.

"This is why you should get help," he began, but Gwyn shook her head, effectively cutting him off.

"The horn is gone. I...it must have gotten loose in the river..." Tears welled in her eyes. "That was the only reason I even..."

His eyes softened, and he held her close as the shock overcame her.

"Is she alright?" Eothain's mother asked, her brown eyes concerned.

"She lost her child before the battle," Aragorn told her, cradling Gwyn against his chest as tears fell unaccompanied from her eyes. "She has refused treatment, but -."

"Well, that won't do, at all!" The woman exclaimed. "Come with me, dear, I'll get you some help."


End file.
